Strength Reborn

Webs of Ice

Tanjiro's POV

It started with the sounds. Soft cries, followed by murmurs-"stop," they said, over and over. The voice was faint, distant, but I could hear it coming from the glass room. Giyu had been... different lately. Icy Giyu had gained new abilities, ones that made it even harder to reach the real Giyu.

He could make webs now-delicate, intricate webs made of frost and silk. They covered the corners of his glass room, beautiful and haunting. The first time I saw them, I didn't know what to think. But soon, I realized that Icy Giyu was using them to climb, to make himself a home away from the ground.

At the highest point of the glass room, he had woven a thick cocoon of webbing. He slept up there now, curled in the cold, his icy claws gently holding the web around him like a blanket. Sometimes, when he thought no one was looking, I could hear him cooing softly, calling out to me.

"Fire child," he would say, in that strange two-tone voice. "Come up. Up here, fire child." His frosty eyes always seemed to shine when he said it, like he was trying to invite me into his frozen world.

I never knew how to respond.

Rengoku's POV

It wasn't enough for Tanjiro to go alone anymore. The situation with Giyu-Icy Giyu-was getting worse. I could see it in Tanjiro's face, the way he was struggling to understand what was happening to his friend. So, I started going with him, hoping to talk some sense into Giyu, or at least get some answers.

The glass room was a constant source of unease. The frost-covered walls, the icy webs, and the strange, childlike behavior of Icy Giyu made it feel like we were watching a creature rather than a person. But Giyu was still in there somewhere, and I wasn't ready to give up on him.

One day, while we were visiting, Giyu finally spoke. But it wasn't Giyu-it was Icy Giyu.

"Rengoku," he said, his voice softer than usual, almost hesitant. "Can you... please put your hand on the glass?"

I exchanged a glance with Tanjiro, uncertain. But something in Giyu's tone, or maybe in his eyes, made me nod. I pressed my hand against the glass, feeling the cold seep through my palm almost immediately.

And then, Icy Giyu climbed down from his webbed cocoon.

He moved slowly, cautiously, his icy claws scraping the glass as he descended. When he reached the bottom, he pressed his own hand against mine, matching the position. The cold of his touch spread through the glass, freezing it under his palm. His frosty eyes looked... sad. It was the first time I'd seen such an emotion from him.

"Help..." he said, his voice shaking slightly. "Fire child... fire man..." He glanced at Tanjiro, then back at me. "Speak for me... agree... do you?"

Tanjiro's POV

I didn't understand what he was asking. The way Icy Giyu spoke-it was always fractured, broken up into repeated words and phrases. But this time, it felt like he was trying so hard to communicate, to reach out.

"Help... fire child... fire man... speak for me... agree... do you?"

It was like he was begging for something-pleading. But what? His icy fingers pressed against the glass, matching Rengoku's, and for the first time since all of this started, I saw true emotion in his face. Not the eerie curiosity or cold fascination he usually showed me, but sorrow.

"Giyu... do you want us to help you?" I asked, stepping closer to the glass. "Is that what you mean?"

For a moment, Icy Giyu didn't respond. He just stared at Rengoku's hand, his frost-covered face blank. But then he nodded, a single, small nod, and whispered, "Help..."

Shinobu's POV

I had been watching from the back of the room, observing the exchange between Rengoku, Tanjiro, and Giyu. It was fascinating, in a tragic sort of way. Icy Giyu was like a child trying to understand emotions he had never experienced. His attempt to communicate was painful to watch, as though he were trapped, unable to fully express himself.

But there was something about that moment-when Giyu pressed his hand to Rengoku's, the sadness in his eyes. It was genuine, a cry for help.

"Help fire child, fire man," he had said. It was clear now-Giyu was asking for us to save him, to speak for him when he couldn't find the words. But how could we help him when we didn't fully understand the curse that plagued him?

Still, I couldn't deny the shift in the air. This was the first time Icy Giyu had shown such vulnerability. Maybe there was hope after all.

Rengoku's POV

That sadness in his eyes-it gripped me. For the first time, I saw Icy Giyu as more than just a spirit taking over Giyu. There was something deeper there, something that needed to be freed.

"We'll help you, Giyu," I promised, my voice strong but gentle. "We'll find a way to fix this."

Icy Giyu tilted his head slightly, his frosty breath clouding the glass. He looked at me, then at Tanjiro, as if trying to understand what I had said. His fingers twitched, and he repeated, "Fire child... fire man... help."

And then, just like that, his body jolted. The ice around his face cracked, and his expression twisted in pain. His hand slipped from the glass, and he stumbled back, clutching his side. For a few moments, he fought against himself, struggling to regain control.

When the frost melted away, and the icy layer shattered, Giyu returned, breathing heavily, his eyes tired and distant. He looked at me, then at Tanjiro, and without a word, he turned away, retreating back into the cold, his body trembling as though he was holding back tears.

"We have to figure this out," I said quietly, glancing at Tanjiro, who nodded solemnly.

Because if we didn't... Giyu was going to be lost forever.

Tanjiro's POV

I felt a knot tighten in my chest as I watched Giyu retreat into the shadows of the glass room. He was fighting so hard, but each time, he seemed to slip further away.

We couldn't keep him in that room forever. But until we found a way to break the curse, we had no choice.

"We'll help you, Giyu," I whispered under my breath, hoping that somehow, he could still hear me through the cold.

Because no matter what it took, I wasn't going to give up on him. Not now. Not ever.